


In Service

by edibleflowers



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Post-Game, Spoilers, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: There is still one more task to be performed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Someone had to go in there and find Noct afterwards. I'd much rather it be the guys than anyone else.
> 
> I wrote this basically from my memories of the last scenes of the game. I'm sure there's an inaccuracy or two, but it happens. I claim poetic license. This one's kind of depressing, I guess. Sorry about that.

Light returns to Eos: first in a blinding column shooting up from the Citadel, then across the landscape in a slower, more natural -- and, after a decade of darkness, entirely unfamiliar -- dawn.

Screeching daemons dissipate under that relentless illumination. As if in a dream, the three warriors uncurl from battle stances, straighten aching backs, blink at half-forgotten warmth on their faces. All of them bear wounds, but none of them are hurt too grievously.

Ignis is the first to choke out words, his eyes lifted to a sunrise he cannot see. "He did it," he says, and tears mingle with black daemon blood on his face. "Noctis succeeded."

Prompto runs a dirty wrist across his cheeks. He knows all the implications of Ignis's statement; he doesn't know if he can bear it. "Noct," he whispers.

"He fulfilled his duty at last." Gladio turns toward the Citadel, broadsword briefly balanced on his shoulder. "Saved us all."

The Crown City is eerily quiet, more so than it's probably ever been. Soon, Prompto knows, life will flourish here again. The world has long waited a chance to begin anew. Without the daemons -- with their source eliminated -- the people of Eos can be free to live in peace.

He starts moving toward the Citadel, a magnet drawn inexorably to true north. It's not long before he hears the others' footsteps behind him. They still have one more task.

* * *

Past the ruined entrance from where they once departed on a cheerful, bright morning, they have to take the stairs. Any power that fueled the elevators must have died with Ardyn. They have to rest halfway up, they're all so exhausted from battle; even Gladio doesn't protest the break.

Finally, they reach the throne room. Prompto's faced daemons, hurricanes, Magitek mechs, raging Astrals, Ardyn Izunia; none of those fill him with as much dread as the idea of stepping into the room beyond the tall stone doors.

"Come on," Gladio says, pressing a firm hand to Prompto's shoulder. "After everything he did for us, this is the least we can do for him."

Prompto swallows, nods.

The throne room is as devastated as the rest of the city. Sometime in the past decade, an enormous hole was knocked in the eastern side of the room, taking out a gigantic section of the wall and domed ceiling. Vast quantities of rubble spill over the floor, filling the space inside the curved double staircase. The once-beautiful red carpet lining the steps is threadbare and ragged. And at the top of the staircase, in the elegantly carved if dusty throne...

At first glance, he might be sleeping. King Noctis Lucis Caelum slumps forward in the seat where his father sat to bid him farewell for the last time. His wrists rest gracefully on the chair's arms. But as the three climb the stairs -- carefully avoiding missing steps and dangerously loose stones -- the stillness of Noct comes clear. His hair, grown so long during his lost time in the Crystal, flutters in the wind, half-shielding his closed eyes, a face gone unnaturally pale. It almost seems secondary to see the blade -- his father's sword -- cleanly thrust deep into his chest, pinning him to the throne.

"He completed the ritual," Ignis murmurs.

"The King of Kings." Gladio's voice is raw.

"Noct," Prompto says, a shaky moan, and sinks to his knees beside the throne. He can't breathe; the tears won't stop now. He could shake himself into oblivion, but finally Gladio's hand on his back calms him at last. He wipes his hands over his gritty, sore eyes, sucking in deep breaths.

"Remember when the Regalia broke down?" Gladio says suddenly, and though his throat is thick, Prompto gulps a laugh.

"How Cid told him he wasn't anything like Regis."

"Cid called the King Reggie, do you remember?" Ignis says.

"And how he made us go out and earn our keep," Prompto says, sniffing. "And Cindy snuck us some gil to help out."

"He was always willing to help anyone." Gladio sits down hard next to Prompto. "Even that cat, at Galdin Quay. Or Talcott, when he wanted those cactuar models."

"Or Holly out at Lestallum," Prompto adds.

"It will be his legacy that he saved the world," Ignis says. "But we were privileged enough to know the true Noctis, at his best and his worst. We can honor him by keeping his memory."

"Yeah." With a last sniffle, Prompto pushes to his feet. "Let's get him somewhere he can rest."

* * *

The sword had been driven deep. It takes Gladio's full strength to remove it, while Ignis and Prompto hold Noctis's body still. Once the weapon is freed, it disappears from Gladio's hand: Gladio suspects, somehow, that it will never be summoned again.

After that, lifting Noct down is a simple enough manner. Prompto ducks out of the room to find a sheet from some supply closet near the royal apartments; they gently set him on it, and Prompto takes one side, Gladio the other, while Ignis holds an end behind them as a formality. They bring him down the stairs in a slow procession. 

Soon enough, a new royal tomb will be constructed. Thanks to Noct, they have that time now. Even so-- Prompto swallows as they reach the doors. He's still not ready to let go, not after they'd waited in the dark for him for so long. There was never enough time. A hundred years wouldn't have been enough. He glances back into the throne room for one last look--

He freezes.

The huge chamber is clean and bright, the wall and ceiling intact: repaired, restored, maybe even never demolished. High above, banners celebrating the rule of the Caelum line flutter in a breeze; everywhere, it seems, Prompto sees a blaze of white flowers, streamers of them, garlands. At the top of the staircase, Noct sits on the throne, dressed in kingly clothing, his hair neatly trimmed and jaw clean-shaven. One fist props up his head; his eyes are closed, as if he's resting. Beside him, Lunafreya's arms cradle her head where it's settled on his lap. She's wearing the dress, the beautiful confection of silk and lace Prompto only saw once in a display window in Altissia. Her hair is long and soft and loose, and, like Noctis, she looks peaceful and happy.

"Guys," Prompto breathes.

"Come _on_ , Prompto," Gladio says irritably.

"But--" Prompto has to reassert his grip on the sheet. As he watches, Noct raises his head long enough to give Prompto a sweet, benevolent smile. Then -- between one blink and the next -- the image fades. The room is ruined and hollow, empty once more.

Swallowing hard against fresh tears, Prompto turns back to his task, edging through the doors while carefully maintaining his burden. He's still not all right. But he will be.


End file.
